


Numbers and Letters

by raeverie



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: F/M, Jaehyun is cute, LOVE NCT, NCT motivates me to write even if i am too shy to share to the world what my thoughts are, There is a recurring theme but i can't point out what it is lol, also let's keep on watching NCT NIGHT NIGHT!, i accept constructive criticism thankssss!!!!, johnny is.... weLL WE ALL KNOW WHAT JOHNNY IS, that's all I can think of right now
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2018-10-10 11:32:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10436739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raeverie/pseuds/raeverie
Summary: Johnny could’ve been the one for her. Or was it Jaehyun?Jaehyun never really talks to her. And she found it hard to take sometimes because the two of them have many things in common. Plus Jaehyun would always do small actions that she really appreciates like the ticket to that busking event that she really liked. She adored the doodles that Jaehyun would write on the pieces of paper he leaves for her every time they switch classrooms. Jaehyun was music major, she was a literature major, alongside with Johnny.Jaehyun was pretty popular in the university, being an artist and all. But Johnny on the other hand, is well-known too because he won that pageant for a cause (save the bees! save the bears! save the honey and bears!) with a blink of an eye.Johnny was.... Johnny was remarkable. A cute button you want to put inside your pocket and keep it safe. Johnny adored all the things she loved. But they also had opposing opinions especially when it comes on ways how literature can change a person's life.Maybe what she thinks she is feeling (love?) is just blinding her senses. Maybe Jaehyun is just really sweet. Maybe Johnny is just really caring.





	1. 1.	The color of your eyes change with every whim of emotions.

It was definitely not the first time I noticed your eyes.

 

I knew it was the color of the grainy sand in Ilocos. “It’s all in the genes” you once said as we ate that double flavored ice cream at the diner three blocks from here. Remember when I surprised you as you walk through our doorstep? I saw your eyes turned yellow, like the daisy that you gave me last night. Thank you by the way, I never really liked flowers because I had pollen allergies so you painted one for me. Another brilliant moment was when we were laughing along Yuta’s joke and your eyes where in the beautiful hues of blue? I think I also saw serenity? That’s a color right? It was wonderful.

Seeing you in glee and the warm hues of blue every time I look at you constantly makes me want you to be happy. And when you found out that the movie tickets for that Hugh Jackman film we badly want to watch together were all sold out, your eyes became grey like the clouds when it’s about to rain and all you want to do is sleep or cuddle under a warm a blanket in your oversized pajamas. But I never want to see your eyes turn empty black sockets again like the time when your professor was giving you too much work yet he gave you a failing grade just because you had opposing opinions about Camus and Sartre. And Foucault, especially Foucault. Or when you noticed my marks and signs of how I wanted to desperately end all of this. I pushed you away, berated the whole world for being so harsh. You hated how I sobbed so hard and chose to say goodbye instead of fighting. But in the end you hugged me. And I felt how hope still remains in the world, no matter how much it tries to destroy us.

That memory of when I woke up first next to you (because it never happened again), I still remember how cluttered our room was. Papers were all over the floor and on the bed. Books were opened, some stacked and both our laptops were out of charge but at least our phones were already plugged. We were supposed to write a 25-page term paper on how we can improve life of people through words, arts and letters. I think we were able to write 3 pages, before we fall asleep due to exhaustion. Your arms were around me and I used your shoulder as my pillow, I hope it didn’t ache that much like how you usually complain every time I fall asleep on your shoulder. When you opened your eyes and actually squinted at me because you said I shine brightly, your eyes were in the color of carnation pink like your cheeks when you blush and your lips when you bite them. I asked you what it means though because I can never figure out that emotion. You said it’s because you woke up. I saw it another time though? When you candidly took a picture of me and you smiled at your shot, your eyes was pink again. Or when I hugged you from behind while I whisper words of beauty and dreams and you turned around to tell your version of beauty and dreams. Your eyes are pink like the cotton candy that I really love.

Your eye color change to pink like my hair 3 months ago which you loved to comb with your hands even if you knew it’s dry and coarse because of the harsh bleaching and hair dyes. I have an idea that it’s a strong emotion that we both feel. However, we’re still unsure if it’s real.


	2. 2.	You’d rather walk than ride cars and trains.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even the most tiring activity becomes the loveliest one because of you.

I’ve always thought this is ridiculous. The first time I had a walk with you, you said I would enjoy it. Well, I enjoy it as sure as hell. I enjoyed how we talk as we look at the changing sceneries of columns of buildings and stacks of houses, of empty roads, colorful parks, streets of flea market, sweets and bakeries, of clothes and craftsmanship. That little stop-over we had when we stumble upon a cheap secondhand bookstore slash antique-shop (I’m really glad that I came with you because at least you will be able to remember the name of the shop, its owner, and the street. Especially the street.)

And who could ever forget that _freaking bridge_ , and a hole-in-the-wall art café we both love. But every part of me – my limbs, my knees, my feet and also my shoes - give up on that 5-hour walk we had and swore I would never do that again, no matter how much I enjoyed it with you. I can’t believe we walked a whole 1-hour trip we usually take to go to the town’s plaza; I can still feel the pain and soreness of my whole body. If you weren’t talking at all, I don’t think I’d even survive the first 10 minutes. So thank you for having a lot of things going up on there on your head. And because I’m new to this town, you told me every bit that you knew about it.

Thank you, I really appreciate your effort. Sometimes you even use your phone to look up if what you’re telling me is true or credible enough to be even shared to a foreigner. _“Where did you even get that information?””It’s what my grandmother told me when I was six.”_ Or when we saw a random squirrel coming out of nowhere and you said that those cute animals migrated from Australia for hibernation. “ _Isn’t it a lot colder here? And anyway, how did they even come here? Did the squirrels swim all the way from Australia to Korea?_ ”

I laughed on how your cheeks and the side of your ears turned red and muttered, “ _How can I even win an argument against someone who is intelligent as you_?” I bit back a smile because you don’t know how much I wanted to hug you at that time. You’d already won me over but I don’t think you know about that yet. Neither do I. You kept talking and smiling as you remember a lot of things while walking. It eased you a lot; the trip I mean. No one bothered you and you liked that. When some girls recognized you, they kept their distance and you bragged about how nice your supporters are. You were giddy, bubbly and spontaneous. You said you’d rather walk and let the wind touch you, let the cars pass you by and admire the changing directions of the road and the sceneries of this place. It’s better because you said you can think more and reflect on your life. And then you start turning your geekiness on me as you talk about the different disadvantages that vehicles and driving bring to this humanity.

You like walking because it clears your mind, and you like it better that day because I am with you.

My heart leaped with a change of heartbeat.

 

 

 

I hope you didn’t hear that while you hold my hands or when you hugged me just because you think it’s cute.


	3. We agree on so many things and like the same stuff so much you and I can switch bodies and no one can even notice we did.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We just have so many things in common; our friends are frustrated with it.

I remember how we started to find out on all of our quirks and similarities as if we can fit two and two in a blink of an eye.

 

Winwin once said, “I don’t really think mint choco chip would go well with mango. That’s just so ew.” When I, on my own reverie, told the boys of the new flavor I discovered. I was a little bummed out that day because I was ready to elucidate how that wonderful taste can spread endorphins to your system. It’s a taste that can make you giddy, upside down and inside and out. On our way home, I walk with my eyes on the changing colors of the leaves from green to yellow to orange to red until it turns to brown and thought maybe the leaves change colors like how people change perspectives through time. On our way home, the boys announced a change of heart and mind and decided to spend the rest of their free time in Han. “It’s okay, see you in school!” “Bye! Take care!” “Text me when you get home!” “Noona! Don’t forget that book I need to read!” I was already waving my hands to everyone and hugging everyone, keeping in mind every reminder they were giving. But you said louder than the goodbyes of the others, “I can’t go too. I need to finish this paper due tonight.” And so we go together, in silence, and I was still bummed out about earlier. I really wanted the others to check out the new flavor because it is really good. Maybe we can all go and get that next time we plan to eat ice cream. Or I can just bring home one container. Yeah, maybe I will.

 

 

You walked ahead of me, admiring the view. You really like this part of the park, how it is always filled of people and children. You really liked how the place is alive with the laughters and cheers. I really liked this place too because of the voices that springs from happiness and cheerfulness of the people. You halted all of a sudden in front of me, and I was about to ask if there’s something wrong. You turned around and looked at me with your chinky eyes and pearly white smile. “I tried that mango and mint choco chip ice cream flavor once too. And… I agree,” you gushed. “I think it’s a taste to discover.”

 

You took my hand in yours and we went back to that ice cream parlor again. You said we can write our papers there while enjoying our well deserved of love new favorite, mint choco chip and mango ice cream. We wrote the words with ink stained fingers and turned our minds tainted with a memory of ice cream and sweet candid smiles.

 

 

 

 

 

We generally, skipped the idea of how we like the same things and how it turns us into two people they usually label as a couple.

I was close to Taeil too, as he is a senior that I respect so much. There was this incident, when he asked me a really bizarre question. He asked if we were dating or a couple of some sort. I was at the pantry of the clubhouse that time and I was munching on this extra cheese ham and bacon pizza (we both hated pineapple on a pizza with a strong passion!!!) I choked on the slice I was trying to eat in two mouthfuls with Mark. Yep, the kid from one of our two classes together. I asked why. What made Taeil think of us a couple. Because sure we usually hang out together and sure, we (you) always text, also we know about what to do on hateful and sticky situations. We both know how to make each other laugh and smile. But we are just really close friends like everybody else in the universe. Taeil, that senior I really admire with his burgundy mushroom hair shared his confusion of how we can never be apart.

“Why do you always stick with each other?”

“But I’m not even with him right now?”

“Most of the time, you do. And why do you own similar things too? I think I’ve seen him use that shirt last time?”

I wanted to say I’m wondering the very same thing too. The shirt that Taeil was talking about happened to be really yours but when I told you that I fell in love with the size and the simplicity of the shirt itself (It is just a plain black oversized shirt that says “Life is now” across the chest.), you gave it to me without a blink. Which never happened before because you never let me use your things, scared that we might exchange them unknowingly, like what Taeil has been pointing out, we own the same things. Also, you said, I might transfer my too much of a literary person, you’re scared your stuff might sputter words all of a sudden (like it will ever happen).

Taeil, never wanting to miss a point, added how we frequently wear the same clothes like it’s completely planned ahead. Like the time when we went to that busking event just across the street of the university and we almost swear because of our matching shoes, clothes and even backpacks. We even wore that yellow Tom and Jerry beanie. Even Taeyong said if it weren’t for my mint hair (and my height) he’d mistaken us for each other. You sniggered how I said that at least I wouldn’t get lost with having the same clothes as yours, you can easily spot me from the huge crowd. Taeil, never letting me finish the pizza I’ve been craving for since last week, further implied our parallel preferences on songs, movies, books and bands. Mark, with his food still on his mouth, tries to add “You even have the same mole on your cheeks!” “And yeah! That journal!”He exclaimed and chewed on his food before continuing, “I remember hyung saying how he mistook your journal with his since it really has the same design. But don’t worry noona, he said he didn’t open it.” Ha.

“Don’t forget that same guitar pick too,” Taeil­­­ interjected.

“But we got that at the concert together.” I argued, trying to point out how these are all only coincidences. I’m rethinking every ideas and points they are giving because I believe they are only coincidences and we just happen to be really close friends.

We’re just really close and weird. We get along with each other so much we even know about our hopes and dreams, woes and fears.

 

 

The first time you went to my place, you were surprised by how it almost look like your room… except for that pink bean bag you said you hated (but I saw you another time you came to my place, practically attached to it.) You were amazed how we own the same wallpaper, a picturesque of the sky and cumulus clouds that makes you feel afloat and calm every time. Your eyes twinkled how I have a galaxy up on my ceiling, “It’s the same as mine,” you whispered to Sirius, the brightest constellation above. When we turned off the light that night to sleep under the stars, we talked about the constellations and their stories of how they formed. We grinned at each other when we shared that we liked living in the universe because of the stars above us. We liked living under the stars because they never leave us at night when it’s dark and we are alone. We liked the stars because they wrap us with a blanket of twinkling lights. You loved my room, not because it is just the same as yours but because of my bunk bed that gives the illusion of a bed up in the sky. It’s a bunk bed with the lower half removed; in its place are books that I treasure. You loved the idea how it looks like a hammock, supported by ropes to resist gravity (or the absence of it). You said, instead of a magic flying carpet, I have a magic flying bed.

I said I like my room because it makes me feel like I live up in the sky, together with the stars, and comets and meteors, away from black holes and collisions. I like it because it’s a place where I am safe beneath the clouds, a place that I love, a haven where I can share my thoughts to the sky and stars like I am a friend to the entire galaxy.

You said, with a small smile hidden under the appearance of your dimples, a complexity from the flat surfaces of your face, that it makes you feel the same too. You whispered to the Big Dipper that maybe you can be more than friends to the entire galaxy, and to each other too.

We’re on the verge of being broke even more because the expenditure for our research is no joke at all. In the end, we all decided to rent a house instead where we all can stay. It was a win-win situation, Yuta said. We can all save money and see each other all the time, which I think, Taeyong totally disagrees with. Knowing how the others…. Do not like cleaning at all. Or… well, doesn’t really get along with a broom and a dust pan, also cooking, it will be a really pain for us… for those who can survive a jungle even if you leave us alone with nothing. But like what I said, we all ended up in a house. But then, we had to classify our things by color. Changing designs is not a good idea either since we end up choosing the same stuff again. Our room now looks like a candy shop with all the varying colors. When we moved, Taeyong was curious if we mistakenly bought everything twice. He can’t believe we could be this in sync.

 

 

**It was chaos.**

 

It was chaos trying to arrange and organize everything in a day, especially with the boys around so we ended up buying (“I’m gonna buy food instead since the others have no plan on unpacking stuff today.”) that weird looking popcorns. You truly think it’s trying to pretend as rice cakes (“I thought they were cheese balls”, Doyoung muttered while scrutinizing the poor weird popcorns.) and turn on the flat screen TV Hansol brought and turned on that Beauty and the Beast, that you guys really enjoy even if you say so otherwise.

Living together, or living in general, wasn’t as hard as we thought with all these similarities and jiving differences. When we ride the bus, I let you slide in so you can sit next to the window because you enjoy getting lost with your thoughts as the ride goes on. You always let me sit on your left side because you know that when I fall asleep, my head leans to the right. I always sit on your left side so whenever I fall asleep, my head would always rest on your shoulder, your left, the part where your heart is the closest. I wanted to listen to your heartbeat, to hear how the rhythm of yours and mine are in sync. Sometimes, I lean on your chest and hold your hand. And I hear the relaxing thumps of your veins and your heart as one. The steady breathing of your chest calms my anxiety like it’s telling me I have nothing to be afraid of anymore.

 

Remember how we both wanted to surprise each other with special days we invited like, “Appreciate the Nerd Day” or “It’s Our Day Today Day” which didn’t really mean anything but we still keep doing it anyway. One time, we were supposed to celebrate “The Goth and Romantic Day” a pun for Romanticism, the movement we both adore. We hadn’t heard from each other for a whole day but it didn’t bother us both because we understand how busy the both of us are. I decided to visit that cheap little book shop that also sells vinyl records and artworks to buy you that Edgar Allan Poe collection of short stories. But I was surprised to see your back and your hair sticking out from that abnormally cute green beanie. I knew it was you because we were wearing the same color of clothes again. I knew it was you because I recognize how the parts of your hair stick out from the back whenever you wear a beanie in a rush. I knew it was you because of that spring flower tag in your bag Taeil (my adorable senior) gave you as a joke.

 

I knew it was you because I saw Taeyong, his frost hair and his ridiculously beautiful face behind the comics section reading an old copy of Archie comics. I knew it was you and I knew I was right because you turned around and was surprised too, that you saw me after seven hours of not hearing a word from either of us. In a place that you and I both love, I appear in front of you as if you summoned me just by thinking the very thought of me. And you are surprised too because you saw that the book you and I are holding have the same title. And so, as you recover from the mild shock and as I tiptoe to fix that ridiculously cute beanie on your head, you put the book down where I left mine and encircled me in your arms. Our eyes amused but unsurprised of this kind of instances, we smile as we both whisper “Happy the Goth and Romantic Day, romanticist.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Taeyong picked up the two books we were supposed to buy and looked at us both.

 

 

“Let me guess, you’re planning to buy the same book for each other and you had no idea, not even the slightest bit, you’d look like a couple madly in love for each other. Again. Right?”

 

 

We grinned, not at Taeyong and his frosted hair and undeniable resemblance with Jack Frost, but at each other before we free ourselves from our entanglement to look at him.

 

 

“I hate you both,” Taeyong rolled his eyes and walk towards the cashier to pay for the Archie comics I saw him reading a while ago.

 

 

 

 

Here’s another thing in common we both have, Taeyong, the friendliest friend we ever had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to write everything from scratch because my document for numbers and letters was corrupted (and other unpublished literary works :<<<<<) Also, I was gone on a vacation from the countryside and we literally had no Internet access and I just go back now. hehe
> 
> I originally planned to write 700-800 words per chapter but this one i think went over a couple of thousand? Feel free to critique this!! I know I have a long way to come and improve my writing style!!! I will always appreciate your help!
> 
> Have a nice day!!!!!
> 
>  
> 
> P.S. I am actually a JOHNIL stan that's why taeil kept appearing on this chapter lol  
> Talk to meeeeee~~~~ @sojohnnyseo (Twitter)


	4. You know the names of every flower I hated.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “When I first gave you this aster,” you put the piece of paper on my free hand, my left. “I didn’t know you can never stand the presence of flowers. I thought since I drew an aster, I can be patient. I can wait until I can finally give you real flowers.”

**You and I can switch bodies and no one can even notice we did.**

 

We had so many things in common but the one thing that can set off us apart is how you liked flowers so much. No, you just don’t like flowers so much, “Oh this is beautiful and it smells nice.” You’re “Oh did you know that the Sakura and chrysanthemum are the national flowers of Japan? Also, their colors – “Which one?” I mumbled and I was surprised when you ruffled my hair and sweetly answered, “The chrysanthemums, you silly”, because I swore even the mosquitoes lurking around weren’t able to hear that but anyway, you still continued to talk.

“Their colors have different meanings like red stands for love, as always and yellow means slighted love or a crush for all that matters. White chrysanthemum can be very ambiguous and the most platonic one since it defines truth but if you are really a romantic then you can have the loyal love for its meaning instead.”

I, on the other hand, happen to be un-smitten by them. I have pollen allergies that’s why I can’t really enjoy spring even though it’s the season I love the most, which is really a bummer in every aspect that you can think about. This is why I also disagree on the existence of vernalagnia or the thought of being in love because of the flowers…. Or the spring in general but I probably agree with spring fever since… you know…. For condescension and all the heck of it.

 

When you found out I can’t really take minute with the presence of flowers without sneezing in an instant, you said it made you feel a bit sad. You knew the art and language of flowers by heart and you badly wanted me to learn it too like it’s another code for us, only for us to understand. Honey, I hope you’ll realize that I appreciate your thoughtfulness and ideas of creating every moment of us to be special. But other than being unable to properly breathe around flowers, my condescension for them might also be the result of a stupid episode I had in grade school. I didn’t know I was allergic back then. It was Science class and we were supposed to dissect a flower to know its par and its functions the next day. We were told to bring a stem of gumamela (“Oh I know that! It’s really called hibiscus and it’s a five-petal flower right? There are also several countries that use it a symbol because it usually interpreted as a deliverer of peace, unity and delicate beauty.”) And the only place I know where I can find gumamelas is the public park in our town. But there are signboards around the park that say, “Please don’t pick the flowers”, and “Keep your feet off the grass,” which as a child, I found very stupid because you are allowed to hold picnics and lay on the grass but you aren’t allowed to step or walk on it? Either way, I made up my mind to pick a gumamela for the Science class (“It’s only one flower! It can’t hurt to get just one right?”) And so I did and put them inside them my shirt where no one will be able to see them. When I got home, I instantly pulled off my shirt to prevent the flower for any further damages and because I felt the unusual itchiness of my chest. I had to be absent the next day because the family doctor said I was allergic to all kinds of flowers and I lost ten points for that day’s lesson.

 

But you still wanted to talk about flowers, I noticed because of that moment when we stayed up all night gushing over the most random stuff until we get both dried up of thinking ideas, ranging from normal to the most bizarre.

“Were you ever curious how a flower smells like?” you asked as you trace a shape of a peony, I think, on the fluffy throw pillow on your lap. I answered in all honesty that I really am curious since everyone claims how they smell beautiful and call everyone “How sweet of you” while pinching their cheeks, a hand cupped on their faces or an arm enveloped into a hug, rubbing your back, up and down.

“I can describe it for you if you like! We can look through random pictures and we can think of how they truly smell and how they get the attentions of people.”

I was astounded because it’s gonna be a tough one. Giving descriptions through comparisons of feelings, using other senses to accommodate something that had left before even it was needed.

I asked if it wouldn’t be hard. When you enlarged your eyes and smiled to yourself, that’s when I realized how much conviction you had to do this even if it doesn’t really matter at all. So I bumped your shoulder with mine and said that I can live without knowing the fragrance of flowers. And you bumped your shoulder on mine and said, “I can’t live without you, so I’m gonna let you in my life further and tell you about all the fine-looking things in life.”

 

I wondered if it’s possible to have a flower blossomed in my chest with every burst of feeling. Like is there designated flower for every emotion? And if there is such a thing, would it mean that for every day I spend with you my whole being can be filled with everlasting flowers pruned by special feelings and happiness, contentment and security?

 

Before the excitement of learning the language of flowers flowered in your mind, you had loved sending me flowers too; flowers in the form of words, painting, picture, sketches and stuff.

“It’s a pity how I can never give you real flowers,” you said.

 

“It’s a pity how flowers wither and die in the end,” I said. You had inkling I preferred this though. Your guts are telling you how I would choose flowers on paper and paint rather than on a bouquet or a vase.

“It’s a representation of what I feel for you.”

 

These words, simple and true were hard for me to brew. I never knew what you really feel for me. I rely only on hunches, gut feelings and intuitions. I trusted your actions because you never said anything. You never said if this is something for real, you never said if this is ethereal or ephemeral, fleeting and blissful. Something that you’ll forget overtime like how the ink of the pen fades and how paint changes colors. This is why I hated flowers; they are never permanent and can be misleading at times. But you liked the flowers so much you were able to understand its language. For you, I’ll take a risk to understand it too.

 

_A doodle of an aster._

I took out all of the “flowers” you made for me because I asked you, “ **All the flowers that you gave me, what do they mean?** ” You said flowers are best when words fail to deliver your thoughts, emotions, sentiments and intentions. The flowers would speak for you when you cannot get the point across. The flowers will help you strengthen your actions when you feel scared of others’ reactions.

 

It was the first time that you drew for me, a paper torn from your handy notepad, was a beautifully scribble of a hand holding a flower I never knew its name. I flipped the paper, curious of whoever the gift was from. I recognized your handwriting from all the notes we passed every day. I recognized your handwriting from that poem you posted on the wall of that café we visited three weeks ago. I recognized your handwriting from your marginal notes on Mark’s papers. I recognized how you cross your t’s with a long line and loop your r’s. Behind the doodle was a jumble of words, “She waits for right time to come, she waits for the tongue-tied removed from its knots, she waits for the right words to be finally said, she waits for the bell to ring, she waits as the grass grow and snow to fall”

­

“ **An aster** ,” you started turning the paper around your hands, “ **symbolizes patience** ”.

“It’s one of the flowers that suits you the most,” you continued as you caress your work like it’s alive. Like it’s telling you what to say and collect all the right words to put into thoughts.

You tell me how you’ve always seen me quiet and observing other people. “It got me curious how you bide time as if you know the right moment when to react and when to take risks.”

 

“When I first gave you this aster,” you put the piece of paper on my free hand, my left. “I didn’t know you can never stand the presence of flowers. I thought since I drew an aster, I can be patient. I can wait until I can finally give you real flowers.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was written months ago but i only uploaded the update now. sorry =<
> 
> feel free to critique my work!
> 
> Talk to me on Twitter - @moonseols!!!


	5. We are scared of how we like all the same things.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if… I started liking someone else? What would you do?
> 
> I look at you in the eye to see if you are serious. You always spurt out words like how water runs when you turn on the faucet. We never really labeled what we are. We never really knew what we are. Or is there even a ‘we’ to start with?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> un-edited.  
> Talk to me on Twitter --- @moonseols!!!!

There’s a long list of how parallel we are.

“Aren’t you scared?” you whispered.

“Of what?” I uttered because thinking of what you are about to ask scares me. I am scared a lot of things. I am scared of thinking how unsaid things can scare me too.

“Of this.” You said, while you look at the ceiling we call a galaxy, where black holes do not exist. Where supernovas are a frequent occurrences and where stars die every millisecond as another celestial body is being born again, not of wombs, not of superstitions, not of collisions but of dreams and hopes of people.

“Of us?” I asked like a little child curious of how a circle is a circle, how math is 1 plus 1 equals 2, how numbers are numbers and how letters are the alphabet.

“Of how we like the same things.”

I wanted to say no. No, I’m not because I like how we can solve each other’s problems in a jiff. I like how we know what can make us happy. I like how we can contemplate on the same things at once and escape arguments because we had already come up with the same decision. I like how we can be comfortable around each other. I like how I can be brave with you despite the long list that I am all afraid of.

 

 

 

What if… I started liking someone else? What would you do?

I look at you in the eye to see if you are serious. You always spurt out words like how water runs when you turn on the faucet. We never really labeled what we are. We never really knew what we are. Or is there even a ‘we’ to start with?

There are eight billion people in this world. There are eight billion lives that change every day. There are 7, 999, 998 people that you can meet other than me. I’m sure you know that. I’m also sure that you know what I will answer. So are you scared if I’ll say that I will let you do what you want? If I will say that you should follow your heart or cherish the feeling of meeting others instead of clinging on my plain presence? That I won’t fight? Are you scared if I will say these things because you know this is the part where we aren’t the same? This is the part where you know that I’d rather have you happy with others if you drift away and change directions. This is the part where you know that I, no matter how much I understand that we are the both ends of our roads, will be willing to let you take another one and leave me behind on my own, if you wanted to, if you needed to.

And when, for the first time, I wanted to stay away from you, you were startled that you started to pull me back. And this is where I’m telling you that I am scared. I am scared that time will come we will start to realize how ambiguous we are.

“I’m scared,” we whispered to the wind that strangles us, we whispered from the stars that are flickering from fear that a neglected crack from their children’s fate is starting to tear them apart.

Outside of the fort that we made, outside of this room that we called ours, stars are dying and falling. Lights are going out and darkness forms. Goodbyes are said and flowers withered. An unbeliever left words of bitterness and sadness everywhere.

So are we saying goodbye too? This is what I wanted to ask you but I was scared because you might say the same thing too.

**I love you.**

Our words that are said from the pits of our heart vibrated through our skin. Our galaxy is celebrating the feeling that sprouted out of our bones. And like the first time, it was I who said hello first, it was I who clasped our hands together and kissed them with promises of warmth and love, of happiness and joy. And you pulled me close with the promises of togetherness and embraces, of endless movies and poetry, of music and photographs.

We are scared of how we like all the same things.

We were scared of every possibilities and miscalculations when we had nothing to hold on to. We are the parallel that exists and transcends. But what we are scared of the most is the stability of this connection that sputters. That it might probably go off and leave us hanging, unsure of when it will come back, will it ever come back or if we have to replace it soon.

The ambiguity of us was the scariest part. It was so hard for us to conquer because we weren’t brave in the first place. But we tried because you were the first one who took a step and be brave. I love you.

I love you.

I love you.

I love you because we like the same things.

I love you because you were scared to let go of me just as how I was too scared to see you make a choice without me in your life.

 

I love you because I love you for all the reasons that we both have. I love you for removing the ambiguity that imprisoned us from being brave for each other, for you, for me. I love you.

And I know you love me too.


	6. You think it’s funny how I have love-hate relationships with everything I do.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “No, I don’t smile to myself. I don’t like myself.”  
> “I took pictures of you. I have proof.”

“I hate Literature.”   
“Of course you do.”  
“I hate those minimalistic art pieces you make. It’s so sad to look at.”  
“Yep, you’ve been saying that ever since the gallery started.”  
“I’m tired, why are we even doing this? You and I don’t even like sports.”  
“Uh huh, and we don’t binge-watch soccer really.”  
“I don’t like Taeil. He’s the most annoying person I ever met and he’s my senior too. Plus the fact that you’re childhood friends with him, ugh, that guy is really annoying.”  
“But doesn’t Taeil always buy you lunch whenever you forget it? Like all the time, for the past three years.”  
“I really really really really hate everyone.”  
“Stop cooking food for them then and giving hugs and kisses to them. Especially Doyoung, he really hates it when you cling to him like a koala. Scratch that, both of you are so alike.”  
Around you is the only time I get to speak a lot. I tend to hide my thoughts and feelings for myself. But you unconsciously hold this remote control that you unintentionally use to get to me, to speak to me, to take me on a different dimension, to be more open, to be a little bit happier, to learn the true essence of smiling, to believe that I deserve love too. You understand how I would always grumble about things especially when they burn to death the life inside me. But you always said that at the end of it, no matter how I try to keep a blank face on everything, there will always be a shine on my eyes and a perk on my ears – a reward for myself after all the hardships I got.  
“No, I don’t smile to myself. I don’t like myself.”  
“I took pictures of you. I have proof.”  
You put down your spoon before reaching for your phone inside your bag. Today, I saw you smiled a little when I sneaked up on your coffee oreo bingsu and tried to put some on my cup too. You would always say that you don’t like it every time I do that. But seeing you smile now makes me hit a realization that you would always let me eat your food too. You know how I don’t like you feeding me but I like eating yours too.  
“I don’t like it whenever you say you don’t like yourself as if you don’t deserve to be loved. But that’s okay, we can learn how to love yourself together until we grow old and love our grandchildren too.”  
I choked on my mango cheese supreme bingsu and almost hit your head my spoon. You laughed and it give me a warm feeling inside despite the coldness of the ice melting in my mouth.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a first. lololololol  
> Obviously, the Ilocos sand reference is already a giveaway that I am from the Philippines. Anyway, I don't know how to classify this one but most probably this is just a short story that i will update from time to time. If you ever enjoyed what I wrote here, talk to meeee! :) Or you could also suggest anything that can help me to improve with writing! Thank you and keep on supporting NCT!!!!!!
> 
>  
> 
> twitter - @sojohnnyseo


End file.
